


Everything Is Blue

by ProblematicPines



Category: Colors - Halsey (Song), Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blue - Freeform, Colors, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extended Metaphors, Hopeful Ending, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Post-Canon, Red - Freeform, Stan O' War, Stan O' War II, halsey - colors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 15:19:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17552153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProblematicPines/pseuds/ProblematicPines
Summary: Stan wasn’t always grey.Once upon a time, he was blue.





	Everything Is Blue

Stan wasn’t always grey.  
Once upon a time, he was blue. A lovely shade of blue, like a summer sky or the foam-crested waves of the ocean that lapped at his knees when he and Ford were younger. Much younger than they were now.  
Maybe...fourty or fifty years ago now? Time was a lost concept for Ford, as he had travelled backwards and forwards so many times he had almost certainly outlived his natural lifespan mentally, though his body remained that of an old, yet still athletic, old man.  
But back then, when Stan was sky-blue and the waves lapped at his knees, he and Stan were young, and they were each other’s world.  
They still were, in a way, but the world they occupied when they were younger was theirs and theirs alone. They were the only inhabitants; everybody else were merely tourists that would stop and survey their surroundings for a while before departing for other lands. Now, their beloved niece and nephew shared that world, but there was still some part of it that was closed off from their youngest and contained close to their hearts.

Neither Ford nor Stan knew what this place was called, but they knew that it was theirs. It was a treasure trove of their deepest innermost secrets, of memories and dreams they had shared together.  
This secretive trove was blue, and red, and purple; an intermingling mix of shimmering, swirling colours that pulsated and glowed like dying embers in a fireplace, bright and warm in the grey world that enveloped it.

Their first day at elementary school.  
The day they had hauled the old battered sailing ship from out of the bracken cove and dubbed it the “Stan O’ War”.  
The day they had sheltered on the old deck of said ship on their prom night and kissed one another for the first time, soaked in sweet-smelling raspberry punch and vodka.  
The day they had separated, never to see one another for over ten years more.

Back then, Ford had been red. A blazing and unstoppable crimson, fiery and glaring like an unchallenged inferno, scorching everything in its path.  
Back then, Stan had been blue. A radiant and shimmering blue, as pure as his intentions back when they were eighteen.

Everything about Stan was blue; his pills, his bruised and bloody hands, his ripped denim jeans. But when they had separated, Ford had felt the colours that had hued his world be torn apart at the seams, never to return for over a decade. The grayscale, monochrome years that followed were both the fullest and yet the darkest years of Ford’s life; he was torn between mourning the loss of his beloved twin brother after some stupid mistake Stan made as a teenager, and resenting him for almost crippling whatever future he had.

He hated to think it, but Ford was slightly grateful for Stan being an impulsive, lovesick fool - if he hadn’t ruined Ford’s science project in a blind attempt to keep his brother with him for always and forever, then Ford would never have met Fiddleford.  
He would have never uncovered Gravity Falls, a tiny logging town in Oregon.  
He wouldn’t have found phenomenon that was far more outlandish and surreal than anything he’d read in books on the topic.  
He wouldn’t have struck up a deal with a demon.

But at the same time, Ford missed out on those colourless years with his brother. If the world remained blue wherever Stan travelled, Ford had no idea; but on his end, everything was grey.

When he and Stan next met, Stan had darkened from blue to a deep, ugly purple.  
He was surprised Stan had made it to the day he was twenty-eight years old.  
He had blackish bags rings around his bloodshot eyes, having not had a good night’s sleep in months. He had snowflakes caught in his filthy locks, and huge, swollen purple bruises all over wherever Ford caught a glimpse of his unwashed body.  
He was purple, no longer blue; no longer pure and angelic and soft. The water that had lapped at his knees was now a frigid, glittering ice that crusted his hair and the bridge of his nose, chapping his lips and crinkling the bridge of his nose.

That had been the last time Ford thought he’d ever see his beloved twin brother again. They had gotten into a fight, an incomprehensible dizzying mess of blues and reds and purples, constantly shifting and changing with every blow to one another’s faces.  
Blood was spilled, which was uncomfortably red when it hit the floor of the basement underneath Ford’s house.  
Electricity was crackling, which was searing blue when it made the gravity in the room all but non-existent.

Ford had thought losing his brother for the second time was the worst possible thing to have ever happened to him, had it not been for the fact that he met Stan yet again, many many many years later, but, during all that time, his world had been bland and greyscale all over again.  
Without Stan there in any of the dimensions that Ford travelled through, Ford had been left all by lonesome, left to fend for himself in a world of monochromatic blacks and whites and greys.  
There wasn’t a hint of colour to be seen anywhere without Stan there to cast his radiance over it.

Now, Ford could finally see Stan again.  
He was no longer blue.

Everything was grey; his aged grey hair that hung down underneath his beanie, his cigar smoke that wafted up into the salty sea air from where he was standing on the deck of the Stan O’ War II, his dreams that he shared with Ford.  
Their small world had been tainted by the greyscale; there was no colour left, only shadows and light and darkness.  
Ford should have been depressed beyond all meaning to not be able to see any part of his beloved brother in any aspect of any world, had it not been for the smallest hue of blue, right on Stan’s lips. It was smeared with faint undertones of a blazing and fiery red, creating a soft and barely-perceptible purple.

Everything was grey, but they just as easily become blue again.

**Author's Note:**

> "Colors" by Halsey is my own theme for Stancest. Whenever I hear the song or whenever I think of Stancest, I immediately think of the other. They're both perfectly tailored for one another, and I just had to write a Fic about the two together.  
> I tried going with a bit more of a poetic take this time, and incorporated as many lyrics from the original song as I could without making it too cluttered.
> 
> This was originally supposed to be less than 1k words, but because I am physically bound to my keyboard, y'all know I couldn't just stop at 700 and call it a day.  
> But I'm proud of how it came out regardless.
> 
> More Fics on the way!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated!


End file.
